


I'm Sexy and I Don't Know It

by Gypsywriter135



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-24
Updated: 2012-10-24
Packaged: 2017-11-16 22:26:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/544519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gypsywriter135/pseuds/Gypsywriter135
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five people who realized that Stiles was built and the one person who knew all along.</p>
<p>(Or, the one where Stiles makes everyone re-evaluate their life choices.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Sexy and I Don't Know It

**Author's Note:**

> Based off the pictures of actual life ruiner Dylan O'Brien. He's gorgeous. Also, I like to think that Stiles is really built under the baggy clothes that he wears. I mean, he's still on the lacrosse team, which means that he's gonna work out and lift and stuff with them even if he doesn't always play. Part of being on the team. And no one ever realizes it until later.
> 
> That's my story and I'm sticking to it.
> 
> Also, not beta'd. At all. You've been warned.

**1) Jackson**

 

When Jackson comes back from his month cruise during the summer, he’s surprised by three things.

 

One: Derek actually started working on fixing up his old house so that the rest of the pack didn’t have to sit in his tiny apartment when they needed a place to discuss things.

 

Two: Danny seems to have been accepted into the pack. He’s not a werewolf, something that Jackson is grateful for, but he’s always around now and he knows all about them. It makes lacrosse practice a lot easier when he doesn’t have to physically restrain himself from being too good when he goes one-on-one with his best friend.

 

Three: Stiles Stilinski.

 

The awkward kid is still himself; won’t shut up, clumsy, spouts off random facts about nothing of relevance. But in the four weeks that Jackson’s gone, Stiles seemed to have grown his hair out. It’s no longer in the buzz cut that he’s been known for since before high school, but it’s styled carefully on top of his head.

 

But that’s not the thing that surprises Jackson about the other boy.

 

That comes the first week during lacrosse practice. Coach usually makes them start about two weeks before school starts, so the locker room is filled with the team’s laughter and music. Jackson and Danny are goofing around, so the two of them, along with Scott and Stiles, are the last four people in the locker room.

 

When he rounds the corner to tell the two idiots to get working, he stops, eyebrows going up.

 

Scott and Stiles are standing at their lockers next to each other. They’re both shirtless, which isn’t a surprise.

 

No, the surprise is Stiles. It’s Stiles and his six pack.

 

Jackson blinked, mouth forming a thin line. He’s not surprised by Scott’s body; he’d put on the muscles since the whole werewolf thing, and after fighting so much, Jackson’s ruined a few of his shirts. He knew that McCall was built.

 

He was not, however, prepared to see lean biceps, a full, developed six pack, and a tiny waste on _Stiles Stilinski_.

 

The kid had always been skinny, of course. He was tall and wiry and fast; he’d be better at lacrosse if he had only learned how to control his limbs. He still hadn’t quite grown into them yet, and most of the time looked like a foal learning to run. But Jackson had never believed for a second that _Stiles_ would be just as fit and built as he was.

 

As Stiles grinned and smacked Scott, his eye caught site of Jackson, who immediately schooled his features to scowl at the two dorks.

 

“Aren’t you two ready yet?” he asked, trying to sound bored.

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Scott replied, pulling on a shirt and zipping up his bag. He turned to Stiles. “Meet you outside?”

 

Stiles nodded. “Yeah. I just gotta find my shirt…”

 

“I think your locker ate it.”

 

“My locker did not eat it.”

 

“Dude, you haven’t cleaned that thing out in two years.”

 

“It’s an experiment.”

 

“For what?”

 

“For science!”

 

Scott rolled his eyes and grinned, walking past Jackson. Stiles shifted uncomfortably in front of him before frowning and looking up at the other boy.

 

“Can I… help you with something?” he asked.

 

“Why would I want help from you?” Jackson scoffed.

 

“I don’t know,” Stiles shrugged, turning around to rifle through his gym bag on the bench. “You’re looking at me weird….”

 

Jackson couldn’t help but notice the way Stiles’ back muscles worked under his skin, flowing smoothly as he bent over…

 

“Yeah, like that.”

 

Jackson would never admit to being startled, but his eyes narrowed when he met Stiles’ eyes. The other boy was grinning with amusement. “Seriously, what are you doing?”

 

Jackson growled. “Just put your damn shirt on. We’re gonna be late and I don’t want Derek yelling at me.”

 

“Sure…”

 

Jackson turned and made his way to the door, watching in the mirror next to the lockers as Stiles slid his shirt over his head, his abs and dark happy trail disappearing underneath cloth that was one size too big for him.

 

Huh…

 

Jackson mentally punched himself.

 

But in all seriousness… who would have thought that _Stiles Stilinski_ would have a body that was an eleven on a ten point attractiveness scale?

 

* * *

 

  **2) Lydia**

 

It was the last day of summer break, and everyone was going to the beach. Lydia somehow got a hold of a separate part of the beach, and almost the entire junior class was there. Lydia was sitting on a towel in the sand, overly large sun glasses on as she twirled her hair around a finger, watching as Jackson and Danny threw Frisbees in front of her.

 

“Lydia!”

 

The strawberry blonde turned her head and smiled as Allison made her way towards her, Scott trailing behind her like a puppy. Stiles bounded next to him, talking animatedly with his hands.

 

“Hey, Allison,” Lydia greeted. She grinned up at her. “Glad you could make it.”

 

“Are you kidding? We wouldn’t miss this for the world!” Stiles exclaimed, smiling.

 

“Or miss me in a bikini?” Lydia smirked.

 

At least Stiles had the decency to blush, the red disappearing under the white t-shirt he was wearing with his blue Hawaiian swim trunks. Lydia rolled her eyes as Allison giggled and set up her towel next to her.

 

“Come on!” Scott cried, already throwing his shirt on the sand and grabbing Allison’s hand. “Let’s go!” He began pulling her in the direction of the ocean.

 

“Scott, no!” the brunette cried, struggling. “I don’t want to swim!”

 

But the boy was having none of it and scooped Allison up into his arms, carrying her to the water and throwing her in. She landed with a splash and when she came up, Scott dove in next to her, swimming further out as Allison tried to catch him, yelling obscenities at him while grinning.

 

Next to her, Stiles chuckled.

 

“I think I’d better save Scott,” he laughed, dropping the bag he was carrying next to Allison’s towel before leaning over to dig through it.

 

“What’re you doing?” Lydia asked, suspicious as Stiles produced a bottle of sunscreen. Her eyes narrowed. “I hope you’re not expecting to use that on me.”

 

Stiles looked at her in confusion for a moment before understanding crossed his features. He shook his head. “No! No, this is for me! I get horrible sunburn. I’m so pale that the sun just basically stains me red.”

 

Lydia raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow before Stiles gave her a grin and pulled his shirt over his head. Lydia’s other eyebrow joined the first.

 

Huh…

 

So Stiles was… he was surprisingly built. Those were _abs_. And _biceps_. Perfectly defined _muscles_. On _Stiles_.

 

Huh…

 

Lydia watched as a glob of sunscreen got caught in Stiles’ happy trail as it slid down his stomach, the boy oblivious as he tried to evenly apply the lotion to the back of his shoulders, mesmerized.

 

“Um…” Stiles said, making Lydia jolt slightly. She glared up at his sheepish expression. “You okay?”

 

She frowned. “Fine.” She looked away briefly, trying to get her breathing under control. “Why?”

 

“You’re… you’re face… you were watching me with a funny expression…”

 

Lydia clicked her tongue in disapproval, holding out her hand. “Give me the lotion and sit in front of me. I’ll help you put your sunscreen on.”

 

Stiles grinned and flailed a little as he hurried to comply with Lydia’s instructions. When he was sitting with her behind him, she squirted some of the lotion on her hands before slathering the boy’s back white. Stiles shivered at the cool touch.

 

Lydia’s eyes widened as she rubbed the lotion in, fingers gliding over perfectly sculpted muscles. His back was smooth, skin dotted with birthmarks stretched over loose muscle. It was perfect, unmarred by blemishes, and Lydia couldn’t believe that she had never noticed before how cut Stiles was. It was probably due to the huge shirts the boy wore; he obviously had no sense of style. But the clothes were baggy and hid everything. Sure, he was skinny, but Lydia never knew that this is what lurked underneath all that plaid…

 

The muscles under her hands twitched and Lydia scowled. She hastily removed her hands, realizing that Stiles was getting impatient and restless; sitting still had never been his forte.

 

“Go,” Lydia said, giving his back a small tap.

 

Stiles turned his head to look at her over his shoulder, grinning.

 

“Thanks, Lyds!” he said, getting up. Lydia watched as he ran into the water with a happy cry, his leg muscles, also perfectly cut, working easily.

 

Maybe she shouldn’t have dismissed his advances so quickly…

 

A Frisbee hit Jackson in the face, and Lydia whipped her head towards him. Her boyfriend was glaring at Danny, who shrugged and told Jackson that he should pay attention to the game and not the water.

 

So Jackson noticed Stiles too…

 

Huh….

 

* * *

 

  **3) Erica**

 

Erica swore as she skidded to a halt besides Stiles. The boy was lying on the ground, blood leaking through his shirt. His hand was already covered in red.

 

“I’m going to kill them!” she snarled, reaching out to pry Stiles’ hand away.

 

“I’m okay,” Stiles told her, breathing heavily. His eyes were wide and he was trying to sit up.

 

“Stiles, you are _not_ okay,” Erica growled. “Those fucking hunters _shot_ you! With an _arrow_!”

 

“It just grazed me,” Stiles argued, glaring as Erica pushed him back down. “Erica, really! I’m okay!”

 

“Just shut up and let me take care of you!”

 

“No, really!” Stiles protested. He shoved Erica’s hands away and pulled his shirt up. Blood covered his stomach. “It’s only a flesh wound! Really! It barely got me!”

 

But Erica was having none of it. She was panicking, something that she rarely did, and all she could register was that Stiles was hurt. She turned her head to yell at Boyd through the sounds of the battle raging around them.

 

“I’m taking Stiles to Deaton’s!” she called, scooping Stiles into her arms, ignoring his squawk of surprise and angry protests. “He got shot!”

 

“Stiles got shot?!” Scott’s panicked voice came through, followed by a pained grunt as he took the brunt of a blow.

 

“Jesus Christ,” Stiles muttered, squirming in Erica’s arms. “I’m fine! Erica’s freaking out!”

 

“Just get him the fuck out of here!” Derek’s snarl rang through the trees.

 

Erica took off, Stiles angrily yelling at her to put him down. She ran without stopping to the vet’s office, the little bell going off as she burst through the door.

 

“Doctor Deaton!” she screamed, eyes wild. “Doctor Deaton, Stiles is hurt!”

 

“I’m fucking fine!” Stiles cried, flailing in her arms.

 

Deaton materialized from the back room, opening the little door and allowing Erica and Stiles through. “Put him on the exam table,” he said, leading them back to his operating room.

 

Once Stiles was deposited on the table, Deaton shoved Erica out of the room.

 

The blonde werewolf frowned, snorting, and began to pace, worried, until the doctor emerged about an hour later.

 

“Is he okay?” she demanded.

 

Deaton gave her an amused smile. “As I’m sure Stiles has attempted to tell you, he’s is perfectly fine. The tip of the arrow only went in about half an inch. Just barely pierced the skin. He’s got a few stitches, but he’s really okay.”

 

“I told you!” Stiles voice said. Erica glared at Deaton, not amused, and pushed past him into the room to look at her friend with her own eyes.

 

She stopped dead, not expecting to see Stiles standing in front of her shirtless. He had a layer of gauze wrapped around his stomach, but that did nothing to hide the abs and muscles underneath it. Her eyes roamed approvingly over the rest of his body, taking in his muscles shoulders and arms, the skin pulled tight over the muscles.

 

How had she had a crush on this kid and not known that he was cut?!

 

“Erica?”

 

Erica whipped her head up to look at Stiles, who was sitting on the exam table, a worried look on his face.

 

“You okay?”

 

“I should be asking you that,” Erica huffed, recovering swiftly, training her eyes onto Stiles’ face.

 

Stiles glared at her and hopped off the table, not ungracefully. “I told you before. I’m fine. Now let’s go! God knows that your pack can’t survive without me!” He pulled his shirt on over his bandages, barely wincing.

 

Erica followed him out, smirking. She let her eyes follow the curve of his back, watched as the muscles flexed as he stretched his arm, and lowered to his lower body. She let out a soft sigh, then shook herself as he took off back the way they had come.

 

She had to get rid of the smell of her arousal before she got back to Boyd. Her boyfriend could get jealous easily.

 

But could you really blame Erica? _Stiles was hot!_

 

* * *

 

  **4) Derek**

 

Derek slammed Stiles up against the wall to his room and attacked his mouth with his own. Stiles gasped slightly before his hands fumbled with the bottom of Derek’s shirt, tugging on it.

 

“What are you doing?” Derek growled, pulling away slightly to catch his breath.

 

“Shirt. Off. Now.” Stiles panted, tugging the shirt again.

 

Derek swatted his hands away and drew his shirt off swiftly, putting his hands against the wall on either side of Stiles’ head. Stiles reached up one hand to wrap around the back of Derek’s head, pulling him for another kiss, while the other one hastily worked to unbutton his own shirt. His hands were shaking, though, and he kept losing his grip on them.

 

“Fuck!” he growled, letting go of Derek’s lips and slamming his head against the wall.

 

“We’ve only just started,” Derek smirked. Stiles glared at him and looked down, using both of his hands to work on the buttons.

 

“I can’t- a little help, please!”

 

Derek grabbed Stiles by the wrists and pinned them above Stiles’ head, leaning in to suck the side of Stiles’ neck. Stiles groaned, wincing at the sound of ripping fabric as Derek ran a claw down his shirt, easily shucking the thing off without moving his arms.

 

“I liked that shirt,” Stiles said, closing his eyes as Derek’s hand ran over his stomach right above his belt. The hand stalled for a moment before Derek was pulling back, eyes flicking down to Stile’s abdomen and surprise on his face.

 

“Why’d you stop?” Stiles asked, tugging gently on his wrists. “I swear, Derek. I’m going to start kicking if you don’t get this party going.”

 

“Shut up,” Derek said, no heat behind the words. He raised his free hand and splayed it over Stiles’ stomach, taking in the solid muscle under his palm. Stiles’ chest was heaving, his torso moving rapidly as he gulped in large breathes. Derek could feel the strain Stiles’ arms were under as he tried to tug his wrists free, could feel the tightness in the younger man’s belly.

 

“Oh, my God,” Stiles groaned. “Not you too.”

 

Derek looked up to glare at Stiles. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

“Everyone’s been giving me these weird looks lately,” Stiles told him, eyes narrowed. “The same one you are currently giving me. What? Do I have something on my face? Is it _my face_? Is there, like, a drawing on my chest that only I can’t see?”

 

Derek growled again and tightened his grip on Stiles’ wrists before speaking. “Since when?”

 

“Since when, what?”

 

“Since when have you been getting looks?” Derek snarled, nose to nose with the human. “And from who?”

 

“Does it matter?” Stiles asked, glaring himself. “Now either let me go or do something, dammit! This is torture!”

 

Derek searched Stiles’ eyes briefly before he planted his mouth on his again. Stiles groaned again and Derek released his wrists, moving both of his hands to rest on Stiles’ hips, thumbs brushing the skin above his jeans. Derek pulled away and leaned down, rubbing his nose against Stiles’ happy trail. How did he not notice this before?!

 

Stiles sucked in a breath, and Derek smirked. He snaked out his tongue, letting it glide over the bottom of Stiles’ abs before moving up and dipping his tongue into Stiles’ belly button, making him spasm slightly. Stiles’ hands came to rest on Derek’s shoulders and Derek pushed his tongue out, licking all the way up to Stiles’ neck, where he planted his mouth and sucked.

 

“Holy fuuuu-”

 

Stiles’ curse cut off with a groan and he shifted slightly. Derek removed a hand from his hips and grabbed Stiles’ leg, lifting it to wrap around his waist. Stiles complied easily and quickly lifted his other leg, so that the only things holding him up were his back against the wall and Derek.

 

“Fuck,” Derek growled against pale flesh, feeling the muscles shift under his lips. He pushed off from the wall and gracefully carried Stiles to his bed, flinging him down on his back. Stiles landed with a soft “oof!” and glared at Derek, until the werewolf growled and hovered over him.

 

He dipped his head and began to run his tongue over Stiles’ abs again, taking his time, teasing. Stiles swore at him and groaned, one hand on Derek’s head and the other tangled in the sheets, legs still wrapped around the older man.

 

Okay, so Derek didn’t know that Stiles was built. Sure, he knew that he had _some_ muscle, what with running around and dealing with werewolf shenanigans all summer, but he didn’t know that it was like _this_. The way Stiles’ moved under him, muscles shifting easily and taunt, how dense they were, the way they felt under Derek’s tongue….

 

Where had the kid gotten these?! Seriously?! And why did Derek not know that these existed before now?!

 

There was going to be some serious talk… later…

 

Right now, Stiles’ abdomen clenched and Derek smirked, moving up to kiss Stiles on the mouth, moving his hand to trace the outlines of his abs as they worked their mouths together.

 

So maybe Stiles’ wasn’t as fragile as he had thought…

 

Interesting….

 

* * *

 

  **5) Isaac**

 

When Isaac came downstairs in the morning, the last thing he expected to see was Stiles in the kitchen, leaning against the counter clad in only his boxers.

 

Scratch that: clad in _Derek’s_ boxers.

 

But he was even more shocked to see the way Stiles’ body looked. It was relaxed, his legs crossed at the ankles. His elbows rested easily against the top of the counter as he held a bowl of cereal in one hand and a spoon in the other, eating slowly as the coffee pot next to him bubbled. He had his head turned and was reading a magazine that Peter had left out the night before propped up against the toaster.

 

Isaac’s breath caught in his throat as he looked at Stiles. His eyes started at the huge hand that was holding the bowl; it easily fit in the palm of his hand. His wrists were delicate and bony, but his arms… _his sturdy, sculpted arms_. There were _veins_. His shoulders, while not broad, were chiseled, his chest well defined. His abs- _abs!_ -looked like they were _painted_. His legs were long and covered with a fine, dark hair… and _athletic_. When…. When did this… What?!

 

Isaac gulped, biting his lower lip.

 

Stiles head snapped up when he heard the noise and he gave Isaac a small smile.

 

“Uh…” Isaac stuttered, blushing faintly.

 

“Morning!” Stiles said. “Sorry, I’ll be out as soon as the coffee’s done. Derek’s still sleeping, but I really need him to take me to the auto shop so I can get my jeep back, but I figured that he’d want at least coffee first. But then I just decided to make a whole pot, but didn’t know if you liked coffee or-Oh, my God, you’re doing it too!”

 

Isaac just stared at a frustrated Stiles, who was scowling at him.

 

“Um…. What?” Isaac asked, forcing his eyes up to Stiles’ own.

 

Stiles set his bowl on the counter and gestured to Isaac. “That look! What, what, what is that look?”

 

Isaac took a step back. “Um…”

 

Stiles pointed a finger at him. “No, you know what? Until you can tell me, no coffee for you. You get no coffee. I’m taking it all.”

 

And with that, Stiles grabbed four mugs, filled them all with coffee to the brim and stormed out of the kitchen and up the steps.

 

Isaac watched him go, eyes raking over his back as Stiles walked away. His inner wolf whined and he shook himself. Instead, he grabbed the keys to the small car Derek had bought for him, Erica, and Boyd and sped out of the house.

 

He seriously needed to re-evaluate his life if _Stiles_ made his feel this way…

 

* * *

 

  **+1) Scott**

 

“Oh, my God, _please_ talk to him!”

 

“I don’t see what the big deal is… it’s just Stiles.”

 

“No, you don’t understand.”

 

“Uh…. No. No, I don’t…”

 

“He… he _does_ things!”

 

“Things?”

 

“Yes! You don’t understand! Jackson can’t look him in the eyes, Erica keeps trying to rub her scent all over him-”

 

“-Isaac had an _identity crisis-_ ”

 

“-even Boyd and Lydia can’t look away-”

 

“-I’m pretty sure that Allison has sneaked glances too-”

 

“-and Danny just _stares-_ ”

 

“-Derek will growl every time someone comes near him because we’re all leaking our fucking _pheromones_ all over the fucking place-”

 

“- _make it stop-_ ”

 

“-and he _has_ to know what he’s doing because there’s no way that he _can’t_ not know-”

 

“JESUS CHRIST, OKAY! EVERYONE JUST STOP, OH, MY GOD. I’ll talk to him!”

 

Silence.

 

“ _THANK YOU!”_

 

So that’s how Scott ends up sprawled on Stiles’ couch as they kill zombies on the television, clicking madly at their controllers. Stiles is sitting on the floor, back against the couch; from his angle, Scott can see his tongue sticking out through his lips in concentration.

 

“So they’re freaking out because I don’t wear a shirt?”

 

“Something like that, I guess,” Scott replied, smashing a button on his controller repeatedly. “I guess the one freaking out the most is Derek when you don’t have a shirt on.”

 

“Well, yeah, I get that,” Stiles said, throwing a grenade and killing a hoard of zombies. “I mean, we’re dating, so…”

 

“Yeah, please don’t finish that sentence.”

 

“I have to listen to you go on and on about Allison.”

 

“I’ve gotten better!”

 

“Uh huh…”

 

They were quiet for a moment before Stiles paused the game and turned around to face Scott, eyebrows raised.

 

“Explain to me again why the pack is freaking out about me not wearing a shirt?”

 

Scott sighed. “I honestly don’t get it! Like, I guess they just… they get uncomfortable when you take your shirt off!”

 

“Derek takes his shirt off all the time. So do you. I don’t see them complaining about that.”

 

“Dude, I don’t know! Boyd said something about Isaac having an identity crisis and Erica wanted to rub her scent on you and Allison looking at you and pheromones!”

 

“Pheromones?” Stiles’ face scrunched up, and Scott could see the wheels turning as he tried to process that. “Wait, what kind of identity crisis did Isaac have? Should we be concerned?”

 

Scott shrugged. “Guess he went to Danny. No one would tell me.”

 

Stiles’ eyes widened. “Oh, my God,” he breathed.

 

“What?!” Scott asked, sitting up.

 

“They… they want me!”

 

Scott stared at Stiles, face blank.

 

“What?”

 

“Like… that’s why they’re all so uncomfortable! And it totally explains the weird looks everyone’s been giving me! Every time it’s been when I’ve had my shirt off!”

 

“What looks?” Scott asked, worried.

 

“Oh, my God, it makes sense! How did I never know this?!”

 

“What looks?” Scott repeated.

 

“Like… _like they want to eat me, holy shit._ ” Stiles blinked in awe, mouth falling open. “It all makes sense now, Scott!”

 

“But… but they’ve seen you without a shirt on before,” Scott said, brow furrowing.

 

Stiles flailed his arms around. “No! Not really! Like… like I normally where a t-shirt under my shirts, but I ran out and haven’t had time to go get some new ones and then I got shot and then Isaac was all-and _Derek-_ ”

 

“Stop!” Scott exclaimed, shoving a pillow in his friend’s face. Stiles clutched it to him, eyes peering over the top comically.

 

“I just don’t understand why it’s now,” Scott continued. “I mean, I don’t understand. Why are they surprised? You’re on the lacrosse team, even if you don’t play. You work out with us. Of course you’re going to be built.”

 

Stiles shrugged and pulled the pillow away from his face, grinning. “I’m hot, Scott!”

 

Scott rolled his eyes and thwacked him on the head with another pillow. “Shut up. Just keep your shirt on, okay? Let’s finish killing zombies.”

 

Stiles snickered, turning around and unpausing the game. They were silent for a while before Stiles spoke.

 

“Do you think it’s the hair?”

 

“Fuck if I know, Stiles.”

 

“It’s a legitimate question. I mean, Boyd _did_ day that Allison was checking me out.”

 

“I’m going to punch you in the face if you don’t stop.”

 

“Are you jealous?”

 

“No.”

 

Beat.

 

“Het, Scott…”

 

“What?”

 

“… Do _you_ find me attractive?”

 

Scott threw his controller at Stiles’ head.

**Author's Note:**

> So... first time writing anything like that scene with Stiles and Derek... don't kill me if it's bad. Please...


End file.
